


Small Favors

by perlaret



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Republic Pilot Poe Dameron, Smuggler Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-06 15:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perlaret/pseuds/perlaret
Summary: Poe Dameron is a pilot, not a spy, used to running routine patrols and apprehending petty smugglers for the New Republic. The smuggler Kylo, however, is not one that can be caught by the usual means.Written for the KnightPilot Exchange 2017.





	Small Favors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lisalicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisalicious/gifts).



The air of Nar Shaddaa is thick with the scent of exhaust. Poe thumbs at his nose as he shoulders through the crowded streets, his other hand holding firmly to the bag at his side. Beings of every possible race mill about him and Poe steadfastly avoids eye contact with them all. There’s no time for making new friends when he’s got someplace to be.

He finds his destination before long, a bar front squeezed between a sorry excuse for a hotel and a gambling establishment. The Colicoid bouncer outside eyes him suspiciously as Poe approaches. Poe nods judiciously and strides past like he belongs.

The dim light and haze of smoke within makes him squint until his eyes adjust. Poe heads first for the bar itself, cataloguing the occupants within as he goes. It’s a mixed bar, with an easy handful other humans within, and a few more masked humanoids who could theoretically also be the person he’s looking for. There’s no concrete way to tell. Not yet.

Poe slides onto a barstool, catches the bartender’s attention. “Lum, thanks,” he says. “Whatever’s best on tap.” The Adarian grunts, grabs a pint glass, and fills it with a brew that Poe knows for a fact is the next closest thing to bantha piss you can sell and still call it booze. Foam sloshes over the rim as the tender sets it before him. 

“Eight wupiupi,” the bartender demands.

“What, no tab?” Poe can’t help the glib comment, not least because it’s kind of a rip off, but he’s already got the coins out before the Adarian’s hand can finish disappearing beneath the counter. He smiles peaceably and pushes a trugrut over instead. No time to make enemies either. “Kidding,” he amends, and casually withdraws another trugrut from the inside pocket of his jacket, hidden alongside his non-standard issue comm device. “By the way, I heard there was someone here looking for a pilot?” 

The tender looks him over, looks at the coin, and finally glances back toward the further corner of the room with short jerk of his chin. “Back there.”

Poe flips him the coin, which is caught and pocketed with an easy scowl. “Thanks.”

He takes the lum to be polite.

The table in question is situation next to the back alley exit and contains three occupants, two humans, one of them masked from forehead to the tip of their chin, and a Rodian. They appear to be in the midst of a serious conversation and fall abruptly, aggressively silent when Poe approaches.

“Evening,” he says, full of good cheer. He sees at least three other heads turn in his direction in his peripheral vision, and figures he must have no less than five blasters trained on him already. To be fair, the Smuggler’s Moon wasn’t exactly known for trustworthy or welcoming behavior.

“What do you want?” the Rodian grates out. She, at least, makes no pretense of hiding her weapon. Poe always did appreciate the forthright. 

Poe takes a casual sip of the lum in his hand. It’s exactly as disgusting as he knew it would be. “It’s more to do with what I heard is wanted of me,” he says around the godawful taste. He takes his chances, letting his gaze find the masked human, and spreads his hands in the universal gesture of goodwill.  “Rumor has it the smuggler Kylo is looking for a new pilot, and I’m happy to offer my services.” 

The party exchanges a bevy of unreadable glances amongst themselves. The dark haired woman taps a finger against her glass and finally asks, “Who referred you?” 

“Friend of a friend,” Poe says, knowing full well they won’t like the crypticness. He fakes another sip, eyes still lingering on the silent masked figure. None of his intel suggested that Kylo was the sort to regularly confer with associates. This is unusual. On the other hand, all of it suggests that he is only ever seen masked, so Poe figures digging a little deeper won’t hurt.

“Which friend?” she presses, frowning. 

“If I said, they wouldn’t be my friend anymore,” Poe counters easily. “What matters is that I’m the best, and I can fly anything. But if that’s not enough for you...” He trails off significantly, gestures over his shoulder like he’s willing to go. He’s honestly more than a little surprised when the gambit actually works. 

“Very well, let’s see what you’re made of,” the woman says, looking at her masked companion for verification. “We’ll want to see your flying, then we can discuss rates.” She stands, gesturing for the back door.

“...Sounds good,” Poe lies, suddenly unsettled. There’s a smell to this he’s not liking, and it’s more than the shitty waft coming off the glass in his hand. He sets the lum down on the nearest empty surface and steps forward. “Not to dwell on smalltalk or anything, but should I expect introductions before or after we head out?” 

“My boss puts a premium on anonymity,” the Rodian says, standing and edging behind Poe. He’s really not liking the look of that blaster any better as time goes on. He takes another look at the masked human, who’s risen to their as well but has yet to say a word. 

“Do they now?” Poe muses, slow and unconvinced. He’s pretty sure he’s been had, and this has nothing to do with his job in the slightest. Poe considers. Three against one, at _least._ In the air, he’d like those odds. On the ground, it’s a little dicier. But before he can say anything else, the all too familiar sound and flash of blaster fire cuts through the conversation. Poe ducks instinctively. His freed hand goes for the holster beneath his jacket. When he looks up, there’s a smoking score right above the control panel. The female smuggler’s snatched back her hand, glaring fiercely beyond Poe’s shoulder. He turns, following her line of sight.  

The Rodian and the masked human both have their hands raised in furious surrender, both under the scope of twin blasters held at their heads. Poe holds his own blaster apace, but instinct keeps him from raising it. Instead, he waits, eyeing the shooter. 

The human man is tall, shrouded by a dark hood that obscures his features. That is, what features are not further hidden by the matte metal grid he wears from the bridge of his nose down, a strange mask of his own. His clothes are similarly constructed from dark fabric, and otherwise nondescript and utilitarian, a leather belt supporting empty holsters. His eyes glint like durasteel from the shadow of his hood. 

“And _I_ put a premium on third parties not interfering with my business transactions, Niefa,” the new stranger growls, his low voice cutting clearly through the now silent bar. Everyone’s watching now. A jolt of realization, and then triumph, shoots through Poe; he came looking for Kylo, and it seems Kylo found him instead. 

The woman – Niefa, presumably – clenches her fists, then gestures furiously Poe’s way. “Please. This greenhorn? I was doing you a favor.” 

“I didn’t ask for one,” Kylo says, casually kicking at a chair and indicating that his two hostages should retake their seats. They go with obvious reluctance.  “Keep your hands up, idiots. Now given I’m not interested in favors, either the granting or owing of, I fail to see this as anything but interference.” 

The other masked figure, silent until now, finally speaks. Poe is surprised to hear a woman’s voice and mentally kicks himself for assumptions. He really did almost make a mess of things, right at the outset. 

“It seems we are in error. Niefa, stand down.”  

Niefa visibly grits her teeth. “So it seems,” she agrees.

Kylo makes a short, derisive sound. “See that it does not happen again.” And with that, he turns on his booted heel, striding for the exit without a backward glance. It’s as though Poe has escaped his attention entirely. That won’t do at all.

“Seems that’s my cue,” Poe muses aloud. He stows his blaster, and with a cheery wave at his would-be muggers, chases after.

 

-

 

It takes some effort to catch up to his quarry, quick as Kylo moves, but even out of a ship, Poe is light on his feet and stubborn in the face of a challenge. It’s part of why he’s on this shithole of a moon to start with.

“So, thanks for the assist back there,” Poe starts off, hitching his bag more comfortably over his shoulder as he falls apace with the other man. “Kylo, right? Can’t say I was looking forward to enduring their company for much longer.”

“Get lost.”

Poe does no such thing.

“What, you already found another pilot?” Poe presses. He taps his thumb against the strap and skirts a stinking puddle of grime. “I heard the admirably mysterious smuggler Kylo was still looking for someone who could actually hack it.”

“I have no use for you,” he says.

Poe whistles, drawing the eyes of various passerby. Even when they look away, uninterested, Poe has a strange itch between his shoulders, like he’s still being watched, but he can’t quite pinpoint the source. He follows Kylo around a turn in the road. “No use for the best pilot in the galaxy? Whatever you’re looking for must not be very important after all.” 

The corner rounds into an alleyway, dank and dark and empty. Poe doesn’t even have time to swear before Kylo rounds on him, pushing Poe into the shadows with a hand at his throat.

Poe is not one to shy from danger, but his body freezes despite his mind’s directions, like his muscles are straining against themselves. There’s no accounting for it, and that’s what sends his heart into his throat and he looks upward into Kylo’s face in immobile disbelief. This close, he can see beneath the shadow of Kylo’s hood. His gaze is penetrating over the dull metal of his mask; it sends a cold thrill tripping down the length of Poe’s back that he can’t quite explain. He feels– exposed.

“What–?” he manages, the syllable croaking reluctantly out of his throat.

“I have no use for an incompetent who nearly got himself killed the moment he got on planet,” the smuggler sneers. “Your instincts leave something to be desired.” 

Poe swallows against the pressure on his throat. It’s not enough to choke, but it’s certainly uncomfortable; more distressing is the strange heaviness lingering on his tongue when he needs to talk fast. He pushes past it and takes a guess at the other thing that’s been bothering him. “So I’m just imagining it then? We’re not being followed by our friends back at the bar?”

Kylo’s dark eyebrows draw together skeptically. There’s a smattering of moles over his forehead, Poe notes with distant surprise. His eyes are lighter than they’d looked. More human. He files that away.

“Less to be desired than expected, then,” Kylo surmises finally, nodding once. The inexplicable pressure in Poe’s chest abruptly as Kylo drops his hand from his throat; Poe gasps to fill his lungs.  “Just overconfident then.”

Poe rubs at his breastbone, narrows his eyes. “About flying? Buddy, don’t knock what you haven’t seen. 

Kylo snorts. “Poe, was it?” He produces something from his pocket and tosses it Poe’s way; Poe catches the thing midair and takes a look. A key. He looks up and Kylo gestures into the shadows, a moment later Poe’s eyes adjust and he sees the speeder concealed between some abandoned broken crates. “Consider this your chance to prove yourself.”

A pulse of triumph ricochets through him. He’s in.

Poe grins. “Let’s go.”

 

-

 

The speeder handles just fine despite the sorry look of it, the repulsorlifts only shrieking a little when Poe takes them around a particularly sharp turn or two. Someone has to jump back out of the road as they speed past, their swearing reprimands lost to the wind. Nar Shaddaa has no formal skylanes to speak of, especially not on such a low level, giving Poe free reign to wind and bank through the narrow streets. Within ten minutes, adrenaline is coursing through him and he’s confident they’ve lost their tail.

“What do you think?” he calls, glancing askance at his passenger. Kylo has one hand lifted to hold his hood in place but otherwise seems unbothered. 

“Left ahead,” is the only response he offers. 

Poe purses his lips, unsurprised. For all that he knows about Kylo, not much _is_ known about Kylo, aside from the fact he’s a humanoid smuggler with a reputation for secrecy and cleanly dodging New Republic hyperspace lane patrols. Allegedly, no one’s ever seen his face. Poe is far more interested in the fact he’s even being tested this far. This assignment was supposed to be a shot in the dark, a risky gamble on a still-fresh officer with no great espionage experience to brag about. He’d been dubious from the start. And yet... 

Poe banks the speeder left, dodges a caged cart crammed full of living things and hopes with a twist of his stomach they’re nobody sentient. Another couple curt directions later and Poe recognizes the smell of fuel and the sound of idling engines. 

“That hangar our destination?” Poe asks, thumbing thoughtfully at the steering controls. It’s not exactly the cleanest place he’s ever seen, not a place he’d want to stow his own ship if he had one, but he’s beginning to get the idea that that really doesn’t mean much to the criminal sort. 

“Do you want the job or not?” Kylo asks.

Poe frowns. “That’s it?”

“Unless you have someplace else to be.” Poe looks over and, oh hey, another blaster pointed at him. He must be setting a new record today. Kylo’s got a finger on the trigger like he’s serious.

Poe parks with rolled eyes and without fluster. “I _mean,_ you haven’t even offered me rates yet.”

“Twenty percent.”

Poe barks out a laugh, kills the engine and lounges back. He tosses an arm over the side door of the speeder and smiles at the smuggler. “Just because I’m new to the game doesn’t mean I’m a sucker. Fifty.”

“I’m taking a risk on you,” Kylo says. “Thirty, after overhead.” Poe shakes his head.

“Forty outright or I walk,” Poe says coolly. “And if that’s a problem, I’ll also be glad to show you how well I shoot a blaster too.”

Kylo looks at him for a long, unblinking moment. It’s been only maybe a standard hour, and Poe realizes he and that mask are really not going to get along. Finally, he nods and holsters the weapon, reaching for the door. “Forty, then. Twenty upfront and twenty upon successful completion of the job.”

“Hm.” Sounds like a set-up, but that’s not the worst of the worries at hand. Poe follows suit, climbing out of the speeder. He chucks the key back at Kylo. “I’ll hold you to that. You’re lucky I packed light.”

 

-

 

Kylo’s star ship sticks out like a sore thumb, enough so that Poe has to stop and gape for a second. Kylo shoves at his shoulder.  

“Move.”

“Right, right,” Poe mutters, forcing his legs into movement. The ship is a stark, glossy white that gleams in the sunlight that slices through the various holes in the hangar’s retractable roof. It’s an unusual shape, with the cockpit bay centered between two pronged wings. Poe lifts his hand to run against the hull as they pass beneath one of the arms. There are small dents here and there, from encountering airborne or space debris no doubt, but overall, he would have to guess the ship’s got pretty good shields. He tilts his head, spying the armaments tucked discreetly into the crook of the wingspan. And otherwise well equipped. “This is a fancy ship,” he surmises, not bothering to hide the fact he’s impressed with it. If the interior has been kept up nearly as well as the exterior, this is going to be a dream to fly.

Kylo doesn’t look back, opening the bay for entry. “It’s functional.”

“So modest,” Poe says, following him up. “I’m sure it is. Does it have a name?”

 _“The Mirror,”_ Kylo says.

The inside is equally as nice, just as expected, all clean lines and well-kept. It looks better suited to transporting passengers than illegitimate cargo. That feeling doesn’t go away as he inspects the quarters Kylo directs him to, where Poe finally relinquishes his bag and takes stock.

It’s just a moment alone as Kylo goes to arrange the transfer of his advance, but it’s enough. He pulls out his comm and sends an encrypted message. He keeps the details short and sparse, just enough to confirm contact and the open door offered to him. As soon as it’s sent, he erases the history and tucks it back into his jacket, and goes to find that cockpit.

 

-

 

Kylo is already inputting coordinates when Poe approaches. He’s surprised to find a co-pilot chair – the ship is clearly made for two pilots, not one. Further inspection shows the controls have been altered, probably to allow an easier flight sans the extra pair of hands, but it’s still interesting. Poe settles into the chair with ease.

“Comfortable,” he says, then leans over to assess the flight calculations. “Do I get to know what we’re transporting or where we’re going, or am I just supposed to fly blind some more? Because I didn’t see any merchandise back there.”

Kylo has removed his hood, which Poe only realizes when he turns Poe’s way. His hair is shoulder length, curling into dark waves against his neck and chin, and his skin is space-pale under the harsh electric lights overhead. Poe catches himself staring and reminds himself to stay casual. The ugly grate over Kylo’s face is still there; Poe wonders if it’s hiding something uglier.

“This is a pick-up and then delivery job,” Kylo explains. “Take over the coordinates.”

“Huh,” Poe says, and moves in to do just that. It takes another minute for him to register what he’s looking at and he jerks back, blinking in confusion. “Wait, are we seriously going here? There’s nothing there but a massive asteroid field–“

Kylo kicks the engines online, lights blinking into life as the ship’s indicators all follow suit. “The Graveyard,” he says, confirming what Poe already knows. “There’s more than you’d think.” 

“Oh boy,” Poe mutters, pushing his hair back from his forehead with a sigh. “I should have negotiated harder.”

 

-

 

Even at hyperspace speeds, traversing the space between the Outer Rim and the Core World systems takes time. Poe fills his time between the cockpit, monitoring the ship’s systems as is his duty as copilot, and snooping where able. For the most part, the interior spaces he has access too are all sparsely decorated and impersonal. Kylo’s quarters are locked at all times, not that he’s tried especially hard to get in. All Poe’s got is the time he’s in the head, and that doesn’t amount to much opportunity at all. He tries to engage Kylo in conversation as much as possible, but the smuggler’s an even bigger fan of monosyllabic answers now than he was before.

All of this adds up to two very boring days in which Poe has little to do but reflect on his fortunes.

He’s a pilot, not a spy. That’s all he’s ever wanted to be, to be honest, since he was a little boy flying in his mother’s ancient A-Wing. It’s a desire that directed his life path and landed him in the New Republic Naval Academy as soon as he was old enough to apply. Never in a million years had expected the day to come when he’d be summoned off his patrol and into his Captain’s office for a special assignment.

Both Iolo and Karé had been mercilessly supportive. “They’re eying you for a promotion,” Karé had affirmed. “I know you’d be the first of us.”

“Come back alive,” Muran had deadpanned, because Muran was the practical sort. 

He misses them with a sudden viciousness that only makes him more restless. Poe tears into the bland, tacky ration bar that composes his lunch and sighs mournfully. At least they’re almost to the Old Alderaanian system, he thinks. One and a half more standard hours, according to the display.

“What’s wrong with you?”

The question breaks through the quiet and startles Poe; he jumps, banging his knee against the underside of the control dash.

 _”Stars,”_ he hisses, rubbing at his knee and turning. “Make some noise, will you? Maybe a collar, with a bell–?” Kylo looks unimpressed, lips pressed into a thin line. It takes a second longer for Poe to register why that’s weird. “Hey,” Poe says, “Your mask...”

“Part of what I am paying you for is your discretion,” Kylo says, crossing his arms and looming in the entryway to the cockpit.

“Yeah, right, no problem, but...” Poe trails off as he searches for words. He gestures vaguely in the direction of Kylo’s face.  “I dunno, I thought you wore that thing because you were hideous, or something. The nose is a bit overlarge, sure, but you’ve got nothing to cry home to your mom about.” 

Kylo’s glare is withering. It’s not enough to derail the errant thought that, actually, the guy doesn’t look bad at all. Younger than expected, and a good mouth... which is definitely not a thought that Poe needs to be having about a criminal he’s very much in charge of eventually arresting. “The concept of anonymity is lost on you, I see.”

“Hardly,” Poe says, waving it off, and the traitorous thoughts as well. He takes another bite of the bland ration bar and asks, “So what’s with the change?”

“We are going in as civilians,” Kylo says. “A mask would create confusion.”

Poe pauses. “Confusion for who?”

 

-

 

They are hailed almost as soon as they exit hyperspace by a ship under the callsign Guardian Three. Kylo handles the conversation in the transport area with an abrupt sort of ease, consenting even to a holo interrogation with a severe woman that’s probably younger than them both. He gives a name Poe doesn’t quite catch from the cockpit, ‘Ben’ something, and before long they’re granted permission to proceed toward the Graveyard.

“That looked easy. Those are the Guardians, huh?” Poe muses when Kylo rejoins him. He adds power to the thrusters, bypassing the other ship. _The Mirror’s_ radar pings, the asteroid belt that’s all that’s left of Alderaan’s remains coming into range. “They going to shoot at us soon?” 

“No.” Kylo takes a seat in the other pilot’s chair, strapping in. “They’re here to deter pirates and thieves from Alderaanian’s Return capsules. We’re here for something else.”

Kylo had explained briefly the Return, in the event that the Guardians had tried to board or interrogate Poe. A custom developed in the aftermath of the planet’s destruction, Alderaanians would return to the Graveyard to leave gifts in memory of their lost loved ones, it was apparently a widespread cultural practice these days. One that opportunists were inclined to take advantage of.

“Something else?” Poe repeats.

“Yes,” Kylo says. “Inside the asteroid belt.”

“You didn’t mention,” Poe says, understanding dawning. “So that’s why...”

Kylo glances at him. “I required a co-pilot.”

“Great,” Poe says. “Great.” He casts about for something else to say that will deflect from the fact he’s really not looking forward to this. “By the way, what was that name you gave them? Didn’t sound like ‘Kylo.’” 

“...An alias.” 

“Uh huh,” Poe says, pulling on his flight belt, because the asteroid belt is coming up quicker than he’d like and it occurs to him that he might like the extra support. “Something Alderaanian, I bet?” Kylo doesn’t respond. He tries another tack. “Which, other question. Why ‘Kylo’ anyway? It doesn’t take a genius to figure that’s not your given name.”

Kylo is silent so long that Poe almost assumes this question is going to be ignored too. He shrugs it off and starts preparing the shields for entry into the Graveyard; he nearly starts again when Kylo finally does speak.

“I was offered another path once,” he says, and his voice is so uncannily thoughtful that Poe pauses what he’s doing to look. Kylo tilts his head and peers out of the viewport into the darkness beyond. “I kept the name and left the rest.”

Poe considers him, studies the creases in his forehead, at the corners of his eyes. Absent the hood and mask, Kylo isn’t very good at hiding his emotions, Poe realizes. Maybe that’s partly why he spends so much time alone.

“Definitely not a family name then?” Poe asks, erring towards gentle. Kylo just exhales shortly through his nose and doesn’t offer anything else, just turns back to the controls, that strange expression draining away like water.

Poe lets it drop. He also takes it for a no.

“Shields up and operational,” Poe says at length.

Kylo pulls a holo map. The holo itself isn’t large but it fills the cockpit with a soft light, edging everything in a faint, glowing cerulean. It’s a digital miniaturization of the entire Graveyard; a moment later it registers with the ship’s computers and two small diamonds flare to life, a red one to indicate their location, and a yellow one for their destination. Poe inspects it dubiously. 

“...Kylo, that’s at least a third of the way in,” he points out.

“I thought you were the best pilot in the galaxy,” Kylo retorts unfeelingly.

“Just so you know, I really hate you,” Poe says, with emphasis.

After that, they don’t have much time for conversation when they enter the asteroid field. It takes all of their combined focus to navigate the perilous field, dodging and maneuvering at the drop of a pin. Poe is surprised to find that Kylo, however, is an excellent copilot, anticipating his moves more times than Poe has fingers, wrapped white-knuckled as they are around the controls. There’s more than one close call; the asteroids in this belt are drawn closer together than any others Poe has had the misfortune to traverse. But beneath the tense threat of collision, there’s also the thrill of a good flight, adrenaline singing through his body like a violent whirlwind song.

“Ahead,” Kylo says as they pull out of an evasive spin.

“Holy shit,” Poe says when he registers the enormous asteroid in their path.

It’s very clearly their destination, because unlike every other asteroid they’ve dodged so far this one has something on it. Poe leans forward in his seat, trying to get a better look.  

“It looks like part of a mansion,” Poe says quietly. It’s not much, clearly just a fragment of a much larger structure it was once part of. But even after years of treacherous survival in space, it’s clear that the architecture was once sleek and well-designed, someplace important.

 “A palace,” Kylo corrects, locking a landing site into the ship’s systems. They bring it down together. “The Royal Palace of Aldera.”

 “I can’t believe it survived.”

 Kylo exhales something that could almost be a sigh. “Not really.”

 

-

 

Kylo leaves him with the ship.

 Poe objects, but it’s mostly for show. The Graveyard is a hostile environment, and there’s no guarantee of stability; better one of them stay with _The Mirror_ in the event of an emergency. Maybe it’s a little selfish, but Poe likes his chances better in the ship that can fly him home than out.

“Aren’t you worried I’ll steal your ship?” he’d asked as Kylo stepped into the airlock, pausing to give his gear a final check. 

Kylo had barely glanced at him, dismissive. “Not really,” he’d said, and left without further fanfare. 

Poe figures he can dwell on whatever the hell Kylo had meant by that, or he could snoop. Of the two, snooping wins out. He doesn’t know when else he’ll get the chance.  

He starts with Kylo’s quarters. They’re more comfortable than expected, Poe thinks, given the too-neat state of the rest of the ship. But maybe that was by design, for Poe’s own benefit. There’s a well-worn gray quilt on the cot, and old, flimsi star maps on the walls. Poe considers them; they’re of known systems, unmarked and completely out of date. He opens the latched storage compartments and mostly finds clothes, toiletries and supplies; a bit of careful digging reveals nothing and he’s careful to leave things as he found them.  

It’s only the last drawer he checks that’s of any interest, and even then he’s not sure what he’s looking at. A number of round, metal components. One is wrapped in worn leather, like a grip. Electrical wiring, a few more parts he’s not sure of the use for. 

“Spare parts,” Poe surmises, turning a piece over, and then a flash of color catches his eye. He picks it up. 

It’s a stone, yellow in color, and lustered. It sheens in the light when he turns it over, and when he holds it up, Poe can see the long cracks that fracture its interior. It doesn’t make it any less pretty. 

“Strange,” he says, rolling it between his fingers. Poe feels like he’s missing something, but he puts it back, closes everything up behind him, and decides to try the computers instead. There, sitting cross legged in the holding area next to a port, he finds better progress. 

He’s always been good with binary and computer languages, so it doesn’t take much work to locate one of the data readers and tap into the _Mirror’s_ mainframe. It’d be easier with a droid on hand to help, Poe thinks, sparing a moment to miss his astromech, but beggars can’t be choosers. He digs around the code, surprised to find it all fairly recently up to date and New Republic standard binary. Criminals usually favor their own hacks.

It helps. What hinders is the fact that Kylo clearly wipes the flight log at regular intervals, so it takes a lot more work to find what he’s looking for, reading through bits of scuttled code as the clock ticks onward. He’s not sure how long Kylo will take so he aims for efficiency, skimming files quickly and moving on. He’s near the end of a long stream of fractured binary nonsense in an old cache when something finally catches his eye. Evidence the ship had been renamed.

 _“Mirrorbright,_ huh?” Poe mumbles, digging deeper into the transponder data. “Hold on– this is Senatorial classification–“

“Find what you were looking for?”

Poe swears, dropping the data reader and scrambling to his feet. Kylo watches impassively from the entryway, breathing equipment still in hand, and Poe realizes he has literally no idea how long he’s been there.

“I didn’t hear you come back,” Poe says, very stupidly. Bells. If only he’d insisted on the bells.

“Clearly." 

Poe winces. “I know what this looks like...”

“It looks like I should kill you,” Kylo says, setting his apparatus down. Poe braces himself, but Kylo doesn’t reach for a blaster, only continues to dismantle his gear. The silence stretches uncomfortably before Kylo continues, voice rich with anger: “Fortunately for you, you have yet to outlive your usefulness.”

“Well in the interest of usefulness, I’ll go prepare the ship for takeoff,” Poe says quickly, and vacates the holding area.

When Kylo rejoins him in the cockpit, he’s donned the mask again, the metal shining with reprimand. They barely speak as they retrace their flight path, and that feels far more dangerous than any asteroid.

 

-

 

Curiosity has its own weight, and when they reach clear space again, Poe gives it its due. 

“So, me being an asshole aside,” he says, straining for levity, “did you find what you were looking for?”

Kylo’s expression, even half-hidden behind the mask, is incredulous. There’s nothing to be done for what’s done, so Poe waits it out. Patience wins out; Kylo is still obviously unhappy with him, but he does answer: “Yes.”

“You didn’t have anything that I saw,” Poe says. “At least, not back there...”

Kylo sighs irritably. “I have information. As, it seems, do you.”

“Ah...” Poe shrugs. “Senator class explains the fancy ship, at least. At least you have good taste.” 

“All the best criminals do,” he replies. It’s as much of a confirmation as Poe hopes to expect. It’s solid intel, worthy reporting. Here in the Core Systems, it’s as good a sector of space as any to send an update.  

“Okay, so, another question,” Poe says, because honestly, they’ll want more than a stolen ship. “What the hell kind of information could be only found in the old Alderaanian palace?” 

“Why,” Kylo asks, “would I tell you that?”

Poe grins cheekily. “I’ll owe you one,” he says.

“I don’t do favors,” Kylo growls. “As you already knew.”

“Then because I’ve been walking blind this whole job,” Poe says cheerfully, and then more seriously, “And because I’m sorry. No more nosiness. From here on out, I’m on the level.”

“Not you’re not,” Kylo says, and the quickness of it sets Poe off guard. “But we’re looking for a ship... and weapons.”

 

-

 

It’s much later when Poe manages to get back to his small room, after they’ve refueled at an outpost on the far side of the system and re-entered open space. He’s only got mere minutes to do what needs to be done, having excused himself to the head instead of helping prep for lightspeed.

There’s only one problem. His comm device is nowhere to be found.

Poe’s stomach turns unpleasantly. There aren’t many places to look in the tiny room, and fewer places to hide anything. He’s not a laserbrain, it doesn’t take any great leaps to figure out what’s happened.

“I could really use a drink right now,” Poe sighs, rubbing at his face. At this point, he’d even take another round of the pissiest lum in the galaxy, but alas, it seemed the galaxy had run short on favors for Poe Dameron.

 

-

 

That wasn’t even the worst of it. 

“You want to go to the Unknown Regions?” Poe says, trying in vain to pick up jaw back up off the floor. He’d been so distracted by the looming spectre of the missing comm issue that he’d barely registered the coordinates that composed their heading until _the Mirror_ was already well into hyperspace. What an _idiot_.

“Is that a problem?” Kylo says, clearly uninterested in the answer.

“Listen...” Poe hedges. “I’m not exactly the most politically astute guy in the galaxy, but I’m pretty sure the Unknown Regions aren’t exactly hospitable these days.”

“I know perfectly well the state of the Regions,” Kylo says. “It won’t be a problem. We’ll be in and out, discreetly, with no ruffled feathers.”

“Uh huh,” Poe says, tapping his fingers restlessly on the armchair and processing the situation. It doesn’t take him long to reach one stunning conclusion: to hell with it. “Well in that case, can I get my comm unit back? Because I have a few things I need to take care of before we’re that far out.”

He doesn’t even consider it. “No.”

Poe sighs, slumps back in his chair, and considers Kylo’s profile. Well, at least he wasn’t lying about having it. But that doesn’t bode any better for Poe.

“How long have you known?” he finally asks. It’s foolish, but Poe, prefers to get these kinds of things over with.

“That you work for the New Republic?” Kylo says. “Since the bar.” He casts Poe a wry glance, running from head to toe. “You have Navy training written all over you. From there, it wasn’t hard to intuit the rest.”

“Huh.” Poe mulls that over. Somehow, it makes complete sense. “So I guess I’m not getting that second twenty percent.”

Kylo looks at him like he’s stupid. Which hey, maybe he is. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t kill you.”

That makes Poe laugh. He stretches his arms out in front of him, then over head, rolling his wrists to crack the joints, and just... relaxes. “Well since we’re done bullshitting each other, you may as well take the mask back off,” Poe suggests. “It doesn’t make you more intimidating, and it looks like I’m along for the rest of this ride either way.”

He doesn’t actually expect Kylo to oblige, but after a moment’s consideration, he does.

“Let me guess,” Kylo says, lowering the contraption from his face. “You’d rather been shot facing your killer?”

“Buddy,” Poe effuses. “I’d rather not be shot at all. But let’s put it this way... I prefer to know who I’m working with.”

Kylo purses his lips. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Not very,” Poe admits with a chuckle, and oh yeah, he’s screwed.

 

-

 

Living with a known threat is no more comfortable than before, but Poe Dameron has always considered himself the adaptable sort. He supposes that’s what gets him through the next few days, throwing himself into ship maintenance and preparation for whatever lay ahead.

“So what’s in the Unknown Regions?” Poe asks for the fifth time before he finally gets an answer. Kylo’s back to withholding information, no doubt to hold Poe’s dubious loyalties over his head for a while. 

“A wrecked ship,” Kylo says, elbow deep in one of the ship’s control panels. The interior thermostat system is off and everything is several degrees cooler than strictly comfortable. They’d completed the requisite steps to determine a complete failure wasn’t imminent, but that didn’t mean leaving the matter in disrepair was a viable option. “Do you ever stop asking questions?”

“Only when they’ve all been answered,” Poe quips, readjusting his collar against the cold. “Anyway, you mentioned the ship before, and the weapons, but this is the first I’m hearing about a wreck.”

“Hand me the wire stripper,” Kylo instructs, and Poe obliges. “How well do you know your Rebellion history?”

“I know a thing or two.”

“Ever heard of the _Another Chance?”_ Kylo asks, handing the tool back. “Hold this.”

Poe thinks for a second. It’s definitely not something his parents ever talked about, but it rings a bell, from his time in the Navy Academy. “Wasn’t it a weapons transport the Rebellion found when they were shored up for resources?” 

“Leftovers from the Clone Wars, after which Alderaan disarmed,” Kylo confirms.

“Wouldn’t it be empty?” Poe asks. “If memory serves, the Alliance was pretty hard up. If I were them, I’d have stripped the thing.”

“Possibly,” Kylo acknowledges shortly. “But it had several escort ships as well, two of which were never found, or else abandoned. And I know at least two potential buyers that would be interested in obtaining them.” There’s an electrical crackle and Kylo hisses in annoyance, snatching back his hands. “Shit. There, done.”

“Let me see,” Poe says, reaching out to grab at Kylo’s hand before he can pull it out of sight. There’s a fierce red welt across his thumb and forefinger, and Poe tuts with annoyance. “I told you to wear gloves.”

Kylo pulls away, face drawn. It occurs to Poe that he looks– defensive? “It’s fine. I have bacta patches.”

“I’ll get them,” Poe says. “Under the bulkhead, right?” It’s no trouble to find and he comes back to find Kylo with a finger in his mouth, face screwed up in a boyish wince. Poe tries to pretend he’s not charmed. “Give that here,” he says.

“I can do it myself,” Kylo says. Poe takes a page out of his book and ignores the statement, grabbing at Kylo’s hand again and whipping out a bacta patch for application.

“Yeah, yeah,” Poe says, easing the gelatinous compound over the burns. He takes care to be gentle. “I’ve had a few of these suckers in my time, from working on my ship, or my droid. Some things are easier with help.”

“...So it would seem,” Kylo allows. Poe glances up and finds his gaze. It’s steady. Astute. Poe bites his lip.

“Let me see the other hand,” he says. Kylo allows that as well, and Poe inspects his fingers; they’re long and well shaped, dotted with freckles, the same as his face– and maybe the rest of him. He finds another burn on the pad of Kylo’s index finger and patches that up as well, then scrambles for composure. “See? All done. Your trigger finger will be back in working order by the time you’re ready to shoot me again.”

Kylo exhales a laugh. “Well at least you’re getting comfortable with the idea.”

Poe pats his hand and withdraws. The execution is far more awkward than he intends. “I mean, if you knew who I was from the start, that must have been your plan all along, right? Use me and lose me?”

If he were expecting confirmation, Poe doesn’t get it. Kylo only frowns at him and turns away. It’s even less settling than the alternative.

 

-

 

Durace is a miserable excuse for a planet. There’s nothing but turbulence from the moment they enter atmo, the weather subsumed into one neverending lightning storm. Below, the surface is void of visible plant life, drab and pitted. _The Mirror_ drops uncomfortably as it hits a change in air pressure. Poe grits his teeth.

“You really know how to pick all the best places,” he says, fighting the controls. “Asteroid belts, the Unknown Regions, hostile weather, what next? Want to take me someplace I can suffocate in?”

“The air here is breathable,” Kylo replies, squinting at the navigation readouts. “The data I managed to get off the residual location systems in the Graveyard suggest we’re looking for a point further south. Adjust course.”

“Easier said than done,” Poe gripes, but wrestles the ship onto the desired course. There’s a slew of jagged cliffs up ahead that Poe doesn’t find promising. “Up there?” he sighs, catching Kylo’s attention with a gesture.

“No, down there,” he replies, and points. Poe whistles.

“I see it.”

They set the ship down with no small effort and approach the ruins. (“So am I staying here again?” Poe had asked offhandedly. Kylo had glanced obviously at the ship’s comm systems and told him to get moving.) They’re massive, the war-class carrier sunk deep into the planet surface at the angle it hit the ground. Twisted scraps of metal and broken ship dot the area, adding turns to their path. Everything is washed the same dull color as the planet’s dirt, save for the blackened evidence of countless lightning strikes scattered over the damaged hull.

They enter through a gaping hole in the side, scored open by the force of the crash. The inside is stale with dust and the floor underfoot uneven. Poe and Kylo both walk with a hand to the walls, a ward against the angled inclines.

“Charming,” Poe says. It echoes down the corridor. Kylo only flicks on the glowrod he’d brought from the ship and presses it into Poe’s palm.

“Hold this and be useful.”

“Aye, aye,” Poe says with no small touch of irony, and holds the beam of light aloft to guide their way. The ship is thick with airborne dust, made golden as particles float through the light.

“Where do you think we should look?”

“This way.”

The further they get into the depths of the ship, the less Poe likes it, but he holds his tongue. They find a method, searching each room of the ship, and then the cargo holds, looking for any signs of the goods they sought. 

Poe coughs in the face of another disturbed wave of dust when they lever open a door together, waving it off as best he can. Kylo squeezes past him, having to duck his head to fit through the port. Inside is another empty room; Poe feels irrationally disappointed at the fact. Sure, he’s not exactly disappointed a criminal can’t find a stockpile of Pre-Imperial weaponry to sell on the black market, but nor is he a fan of the sharp lines of frustration creasing Kylo’s face. 

“Can I be honest?” he finally says after another long, fruitless hour. “I don’t think it’s here.”

“We aren’t done looking,” Kylo snaps, pushing his hair back from his face. Sweat makes tendrils cling to his temples and neck despite the cool temperature.

Poe sighs, scuffs the toe of his boot against a loose floor panel. It comes free and skitters down the angle of the corridor. “We’ve checked every cargo hold that exists on that schematic you’re carrying. The weapons are gone.”

Kylo hisses with annoyance and then abruptly turns and kicks the wall. “Damn it.”

“Yeah.” Poe rubs the back of his neck. “Look, I– do you hear that?”

It’s a faint rumble, deep as they are in the wreckage, but it’s distinct nevertheless. Kylo stills, expression thunderous, and listens.

“That’s not rain. Engines.” 

They look at each other. _“The Mirror.”_

Poe thinks quickly. “Come on, there was a clear viewport back this way.”

It’s a bad angle, difficult to see specifics in the darkness that’s only grown in their time spent underground. It’s not until another flash of lightning illuminates everything that two shapes in the sky are made apparent before they dart back out of sight into the growing night. The design is familiar, and a sharp relief, at least until Kylo bristles beside him.

“X-Wings,” he growls.

“I didn’t call them,” Poe reminds him. “I’ve been with you the whole time.” 

“Then how?”

“I don’t know!” Poe shakes his head, recalling the brief glimpse he’d caught back to mind. “I don’t think those were Republic colors though. Which makes sense, they wouldn’t be this far out in this area of space. No one’s looking for war.”

Something slow, reluctant, and very unhappy crawls its way into Kylo’s expression. 

“That may be worse.”

 

-

 

In the end, there’s nowhere to go but up, or else risk _The Mirror_ being hijacked and themselves left stranded on an inhospitable planet in an empty system. They are taken into custody almost immediately by the investigating parties. 

“On whose authority?” Poe demands as the binders are secured around his wrists.  The bearded man responsible checks their tightness and then pushes him forward, toward the armored tow transport to which they’re currently hooking up _The Mirror_. From the corner of his eye, Poe can see that Kylo looks ready to spit nails at the sight. 

“The Resistance,” he says, guiding Poe up the ramp.

“Oh,” Poe says faintly. He’d heard rumors, sure, but he’d kind of thought they were just a story. “Sorry, wait. What does the Resistance want with a couple of smugglers?”

“Ask your friend,” he says, and directs Poe into the containment lock.

 

-

 

The answer is not the one Poe is expecting, as is so common the refrain these days.

Their captors rendezvous with a cruiser once they’re back in neutral space and bring them on board. By the stylings and layout, Poe would have to guess it’s Mon Calamari in design, though no one narrates their tour to the command deck, where Poe bears witness to the most unexpected conversation of his life.

“Four years, and one day you just decide to flying in Alderaanian space in a stolen ship under your own name? Of course I was going to hear about it.”

Kylo stands stiffly, twin red patches of either anger or embarrassment (or maybe both, Poe reckons) brightening his cheeks. He’s a good two heads taller than the woman standing comfortably before them, her hip resting against the console, and despite her age and stature she radiates a confidence and command that leaves Poe speechless. She’s a figure of the stories of his youth breathed into life, instantly recognizable. _General Leia Organa._

His somewhat compatriot is not nearly so impressed.

“I imagined you would,” Kylo says. “I didn’t linger for a reason.”

General Organa folds her arms. “It was easy enough to figure out what you were looking for, Ben. I do know a few things you don’t, still.”

“I remember,” Kylo says, and the words are too bitter for there not to be a story there. Poe can feel the friction in the room immediately intensify, making his hair stand on end, but there’s something more pressing that pricks at him.

“Wait, hold on,” Poe starts, shaken out of his awed silence. “Ben? That’s actually your real name?”

Kylo’s mouth twists witheringly, but before he can answer, the General interrupts.

“Poe Dameron. We verified your credentials with the New Republic Navy,” she says with a small smile. “Though your name proceeds you. They did appreciate knowing their agent was safe and sound, but I expect your commanding officers will be quite anxious for an update. We’ll be arranging a transport for you shortly.”

“Ma’am,” Poe manages, trying to bite back an impulsive smile. He forcibly reminds himself not to make a fool of himself. “Thank you.”

“Feel free to make yourself comfortable in the meantime. You’re free to go.”

He can feel Kylo – Ben? – stiffen at his side. Poe’s smile wanes.

“General, if you don’t mind the question...” She nods, and Poe swallows, glancing askance. “I’m expected to bring this man into custody.”

The General smiles thinly, but not ungraciously. “I’m aware. However that will not be necessary. Your mission is complete, Commander. The smuggler–“ she says this with a wry sort of tone and raised eyebrow that leaves Poe feeling on the outside of a joke, “–Kylo is rescinded into the care of the Resistance for the time being.”

“Excellent,” Kylo says, like it’s anything but.

 

-

 

The care of the Resistance is apparently not imprisonment either, and Kylo joins him some time later with a uncharacteristically resigned – if sourly so – bearing. Poe offers him a droll grin.

“I guess I’m skating by on those death threats, huh?” he says.

Kylo harrumphs, but there’s a edge of dry humor there Poe’s gotten better at recognizing. “Guess you’re luckier than you look.”

“Guess I am,” Poe says, gesturing at a seat for Kylo to take. He shakes his head, preferring to stand, leaning against the wall near the door. Poe sighs. “Hey... You going to be okay here? I mean, it looks like the cat’s out of the bag, you weren’t even wearing your mask today.”

Kylo grumbles. “It wouldn’t have helped. But I’ll be fine.” He gives Poe a narrow eyed look. “Why, what are you going to do? Break me out?”

Poe places a hand over his heart, affecting scandal. “Me, an upstanding Naval officer, and you, a criminal?” He bites into his grin. “Would I do that?” It’s a joke sure, but Poe abruptly wonders at himself. There’s a too large part of him, the part of him he knows to be inclined to reckless behavior, that’s actually pretty warm to the idea. Sure, Kylo’s a smuggler, but... he’s not the worst Poe’s ever encountered, either.

“You are upstanding,” Kylo says, and he makes it sound like an insult. Poe laughs softly.

“I’m just saying,” he says, and lets the suggestion hang in the air between them.

Kylo looks away. “I’ll be fine,” he says, and somehow Poe really does believe him when he says it.

“I guess this is it, then?” Poe sighs after a moment of pause, the reality of it settling in. In a couple of hours, he’ll be back on his way to his post, back to defending the very heart of the New Republic with a regular patrol routine. Back to flying, like he’s always wanted to do.

“Be careful,” Kylo says abruptly. “I know that look the General was giving you. Before you know it, you’ll be a new recruit to something else entirely.”

“Really?” Interest, and hope, blossoms with vibrant fierocity in Poe’s chest; curiosity raises its own more familiar head as well. “It looked like you two have run into each other before, you know.”

“Something like that,” Kylo says. “Long story.”

Poe tilts his head thoughtfully. “Well... maybe you’ll have the chance to tell me sometime.”

“Maybe,” Kylo says, and perhaps it’s only a trick of the light, but there’s a curve to his mouth that could nearly be called a smile. It’s enough to lend Poe the utmost certainty that this isn’t the last he’ll see of Kylo, or Ben, or whatever his name is.

He likes his odds. After all, the galaxy’s granted him favors before, and Poe hopes this one is a small one.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: "Smuggler AU: Smuggler Ben Solo ends up saving reputable pilot Poe Dameron on one of his 'business ventures' then Poe ends up saving Ben in return by flying out of what would otherwise be a death trap. They fall rather hard for each other, and Poe ends up agreeing to be Ben's partner and pilot."
> 
> It kind of took its own path and wanted to be more slow burn than I was originally shooting for, but I loved building and fleshing out this alternate timeline. Thanks for a great prompt, and I hope you (and everyone else who reads this) enjoyed!
> 
> I'd love to know what you thought! Comments are always appreciated.


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